


gold in the air of summer

by bumblybee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Beekeeper Sid, M/M, Prince Geno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 18:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18953335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblybee/pseuds/bumblybee
Summary: It isn’t until all the honey is packed up and the bodyguards have taken it off in a couple loads to wherever their car is that Sidney takes a look at the check and the invitation.The check is for $5,000, and the invitation is for a welcome gala in Halifax for the crown prince of Rhodivo, Evgeni Malkin.





	gold in the air of summer

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a fill from [a prompt I got on Tumblr](https://bumblybee-fic.tumblr.com/): "royalty au where they bump into each other at the cafe or farmer’s market or something and Have a Moment (and maybe then later that night they formally meet at the royal ball...?)" 
> 
> Thanks to the original anon prompter and to Vic for encouraging me more than she should have. 
> 
> I'm marking this as complete, but there's a very good chance I'll be adding additional chapters later on!

Sidney can’t say he’s gotten all that many famous customers before—part of that is the fact that there aren’t really a lot of famous people around Cole Harbour to begin with, and the other part is the fact that Sidney’s just a beekeeper who sells honey at the local market. It’s not exactly the prime spot for meeting celebrities, but he enjoys seeing his regulars and testing out new flavorings on a willing audience. 

So when actual, literal _royalty_ shows up, well, the whole market is abuzz with talk. 

At first, it’s hard to tell. The entourage of bodyguards almost consists of more people than actually live in town. Sidney first spots them several booths down; they’re walking at a stroll, having a look at each booth but not stopping for much longer than just to have a peek at what’s being offered. The guy in the middle looks different from the rest of the group—partly because he’s wearing a blue suit and isn’t in all black, but also because he towers over most of the rest of them. He makes an effort to smile at each of the booth owners, even if he doesn’t stop for very long, and he shakes hands with those who ask and bends down to talk to the children who come up to him, curious. 

Mrs. Waters, a retiree who always sets up her jewelry booth right next to Sidney’s, sends her assistant over in a hurry to check it out, and when she returns, her eyes are wide. 

“He’s a prince,” she says at an unsuccessful whisper. “From—I don’t know, somewhere near Russia? One of those countries. But he’s _definitely_ a prince, oh my god.” 

As kind as Mrs. Waters and her assistant are, they’re also probably some of the biggest gossips in town, and so as the prince and his entourage approach their booth, Sidney has to remind himself to keep it all together. 

Because now that the prince is closer, Sidney can tell that he’s very handsome, and that is so, _so_ not what Sidney needs right now. 

The prince is cordial to Mrs. Waters and her assistant, and he looks at her jewelry and tells her that his mother would love certain pieces. Mrs. Waters seems very happy about that, and she tells her assistant to get a picture of him looking over their products. 

Sidney almost holds his breath when the prince comes to his booth, and the prince stops, looking at his sign— _Crosbees: Artisanal Honey from Local Bees_. 

“You the beekeeper?” he asks, and Sidney nods and smiles. 

“Yes, all the honey you see is from my bees.” Sidney motions toward the plate he keeps out, covered with little sample cups of honey and a smorgasbord of crackers and cookies. “Feel free to try. This one is our regular, unflavored honey, and this one is a new one we’re trying out. It has just a little bit of marmalade in it.”

“I try both?” he asks, and Sidney nods. 

“Sure, go ahead.”

The prince hands one cup of each sample to one of his bodyguards along with a cracker. The bodyguard dips a finger into each cup of honey and bites into the cracker, which—that’s weird, Sidney’s not sure he’s ever seen someone actually taste-test something for someone. He’s only a little insulted before both cups are handed back to the prince, and he immediately smears a cracker with the plain honey. 

Sidney holds his breath the same way he does whenever someone new tries their first sample, and he doesn’t have to wait long for a reaction, because the prince practically _moans_ when he eats it. The noise makes something flutter in Sidney’s stomach, and he has to force that down, because this is _so_ not the time. 

The prince says something in a language Sidney doesn’t recognize to one of his bodyguards, and they pass around the little cup and dip their fingers in the honey reluctantly while the prince tries the marmalade flavor, which goes over just as well as the first one.

“How much?” the prince asks, and Sidney launches into his spiel. 

“Well, we have two jar sizes. For the regular honey, the small jar is $7, and the larger jar is—“

“For all,” the prince says. “I want all jars.” 

“All—all of the regular?”

“All honey you bring to sell today, I want.” 

Sidney’s knees feel weak, and he has to hold onto the edge of the table to keep himself upright. He brings two hundred jars with him every week, excluding the standing orders he has from those in the community, and he’s generally lucky if he sells half of those. 

“All—but are you sure, Your Highness? There’s—I have a _lot_ of honey.”

The prince laughs, somehow making it feel like he’s not laughing _at_ Sidney, but with him. “I hope you have, I want a lot of honey.” He motions for one of his bodyguards, who produces a wallet. “How much?”

Sidney quickly tries to do the math in his head. “I don’t—it’s—$1,500?” It’s a low-ball number and he realizes it as soon as he says it, but it’s more than he’d make on any other week when there isn’t a _prince_ standing _right fucking in front of him_. It’d pay his rent for a whole month with some left over, and that alone is a huge relief. Any other money he makes this month can go toward the bees, and maybe he can finally put that website together and start taking online orders—

The prince frowns, then consults with his entourage for a minute before turning back to Sidney. “I write you check, is okay?”

Sidney generally doesn’t accept anything other than cash, but he’s not sure he’d want to take $1,500 in cash to begin with. “Sure, yeah, a check’s fine.” 

The prince writes out a check, tears it from the pad, and folds in it half before handing it over to Sidney. “I have them help you pack up. You have enough boxes?”

“Yeah, we can just use the ones I brought.” He takes the check and puts it in his back pocket. “Thank you. Thank you so much, you have no idea—“ 

“My pleasure, really. Best honey I’ve ever taste—and I taste a lot of honey.” The prince flashes that smile again, and Sidney’s stomach flips like the traitor it is. He reaches for one of Sidney’s business cards, tucking it in an inner suit jacket pocket, and then pauses, pulling out a separate slip of paper. “You have plans for Saturday night?”

“Um.” Sidney’s brain just about short-circuits, because—is this guy asking him out? “No, I—no, I don’t have anything planned.” 

The prince hands over the slip of paper. “Maybe I see you there? Make it more fun, not have to talk about boring things with someone.” 

Sidney only gets a chance to glance down at the paper and recognizes it as an invitation to some kind of party—a fancy one, if the stationery is anything to go off of, but he doesn’t pay it much mind other than that. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll think about it, thank you.” 

One of the entourage taps on the politician’s shoulder and says something to him that makes his expression deflate. “Have to go, but nice to meet you, Sidney,” he says, offering his hand. 

“Nice to meet you too, Your Highness.“ 

“Zhenya.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Zhenya.” 

“Oh. Okay. Zhenya. Nice to meet you.” He shakes Zhenya’s hand, and Zhenya gives him a smile before turning around and barking something at a couple of the bodyguards, who step forward, presumably to help Sidney with the honey. 

It isn’t until all the honey is packed up and the bodyguards have taken it off in a couple loads to wherever their car is that Sidney takes a look at the check and the invitation. 

The check is for $5,000, and the invitation is for a welcome gala in Halifax for the crown prince of Rhodivo, Evgeni Malkin.

* * *

 It takes Sidney about 48 hours to decide that he’s going to go to the gala, and another 24 to get off his ass and rent a tux.

The awe of selling all of his honey—almost every single jar he’d had to begin with—is enough of a shock on its own, but to think that a prince was the buyer, well. Sidney has to pinch himself every time he thinks about it. 

And to make matters worse, the whole gala itself—he’s never been to anything like it. He’s awful at small-talk, wants nothing to do with the people who will be there, but…

But Zhenya had looked so thrilled when Sidney said he’d think about coming, and Sidney’s heart is nothing if not a traitor.

Which is why he finds himself at the local tailor in town. 

“I’ve never seen you need a tux before, Sidney,” she says, taking his measurements. “Not even for the school dances. What kind of fancy event are you going to?”

It seems awful to tell her the truth, but it’d feel even more awful to lie, so he goes for something in between. “It’s, uh. It’s an event in Halifax.” 

That seems to be enough for her, because she nods. “Well, you’ll look very snazzy, I can promise you that.” 

As soon as Sidney leaves, he knows the news is going to be all over town that Sidney Crosby is going to a fancy event in Halifax, and won’t that be good for him, to get out of town for a little while? 

The tux is ready for him again in two days, and the fitting goes surprisingly well—it actually fits well over his ass, which is a surprise to both Sidney and the tailor, apparently. 

“Look at you, so handsome,” she says, brushing her hands over his lapels. “Just make sure you don’t gel your hair too much—girls like to see the curls.” 

Sidney just smiles and thanks her, and he leaves with his tuxedo in tow.

* * *

 If the bees know something’s up—and they can always tell, Sidney finds, especially if he’s feeling anxious—they’re at least kind to him, almost going out of their way to allow him to harvest their honey without any issue. He generally takes pride in how well-mannered his bees are; the fact that he’s only been stung a handful of times since he established the hive is enough of an indication of that.

But a bee sting before he’s meant to meet Zhenya at the gala would mean disaster—he’s not _allergic_ to bees, per se, but his skin does swell and itch a little more than it should when he’s stung, and he has an emergency stash of Benadryl in the honey house should the worst happen. He’d learned that the hard way, when he was stung for the first time on the cheek when he’d been first establishing the hive. 

It hadn’t been a great look. 

He’s able to get each frame of one of his hives into the honey house, and prepares them for extraction. Once he’s got a pail of honey and empty frames, he returns them to hive and sighs in relief. No accidents, no bee stings, no potentially-terrifying swelling. 

And he’s got enough honey for a special little vial fit for a prince. 

* * *

 On the night of the gala, Sidney takes his time getting ready—mostly because he wants to make sure he ties his tie correctly, because it’s probably been since he graduated high school that he’s had to tie a tie, but also because… well, it’s nerve-wracking, thinking you’re about to walk into a building full of rich people and royalty and somehow not stick out like a sore thumb.

He drives to Halifax, only realizing halfway there that Zhenya hadn’t mentioned anything about parking, but fortunately that’s taken care of for him, because as soon as he pulls up in his dingy Volkswagen, the valet stops him. 

“This is a private event,” he says, practically turning his nose up at Sidney’s car. 

“I know, I have an invitation.” He reaches into the console, pulling out the gold foiled invitation that only looks a little tattered and blue after being folded in his jeans pocket for a while.

The valet looks it over, then looks at Sidney again, but he takes Sidney’s keys and a cash tip without any complaint. 

When Sidney enters the building, he’s immediately stopped, having to hand over his invitation and an ID. The bouncer looks almost shocked to find his name on the list, giving him a once over. 

“The crown prince put you on the list himself,” he says, and Sidney blinks. 

“I—yeah, he’s the one who invited me.” 

The bouncer shakes his head, but motions for Sidney to go inside the foyer. 

It’s only a little insulting; he knows how he must look to these people, and really, he doesn’t care. 

Well, okay, he’d prefer not to make an idiot of himself. But as long as he gets to see Zhenya again, it’ll be worth it. 

They seem to be holding everyone in of the large ballrooms off from the foyer. _Everything_ is gold, from the huge chandeliers to the accents on the walls. There are paintings he doesn’t recognize but can tell are worth more than he’ll probably make in his lifetime, and the floor is covered in a beautiful dark hardwood that looks like it’s seen a few galas in its time. He’d almost just like to stand here and take it all in, all the people with their fancy clothes and jewelry glinting in the light. 

But he’s met with a barrage of waiters offering him hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne that probably cost more than what he makes in a month, and—okay, so maybe he can have _one_ glass, and that shrimp looks pretty nice, too. But now the foyer’s crowded up pretty well, and it’s hard enough for Sidney to squeeze around people to even begin to look for Zhenya, much less find and recognize him among all the people already here. 

He manages to make it a little ways through the room when there’s a clanking of glasses, and someone calls, “Ladies and gentlemen, the crown prince of Rhodivo!”

As Zhenya enters the room, every head turns to look at him. He’s dressed in what must be the regalia of his position, a red coat with gold epaulets and a deep blue sash. He holds himself differently from when Sidney met him at the farmer’s market—so much so that Sidney can tell in the first place, but he moves as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

And maybe he does, considering, you know. The whole prince thing. 

He gives a speech, something about a hopeful relationship between Canada and Rhodivo, but Sidney doesn’t hear most of it. He listens to Zhenya’s voice, to its cadences—he’s been trained his whole life for this, and that much is obvious from the way he emotes and speaks. 

But it’s an act, because Sidney’s seen the way he reacts to honey of all things, and as ridiculously handsome as Zhenya is right now, this version of him is nothing compared to the one Sidney met at the market last Sunday. 

And he feels awful, a sinking feeling in his gut—because Sidney knew, he _knew_ he had no chance with Zhenya before now, but seeing Zhenya like this only makes it solidify in his mind. There’s no way Zhenya could risk being with Sidney. An invitation to a gala isn’t a date; he’d just liked Sidney’s honey, that’s all. The little vial he’d brought along with him weighs heavy in his pocket. What had he even been thinking? 

Sidney’s own stupidity makes him want to throw up.

Everyone around him is applauding, and he realizes Zhenya’s speech is over.The volume in the room gradually gets louder as everyone starts socializing again, and Sidney makes a beeline for the restroom, which fortunately isn’t too far away. 

It’s empty when he gets there, thankfully, and he splashes some water on his face and leans over the sink. A group walks in after him, one of the men clapping him on the back. 

“Drink too much already, eh?” he asks, and Sidney just nods. They start their own conversation by the urinals, and Sidney decides he’s had enough time to mope. He still has to talk to Zhenya one way or another; he just has to keep himself together for long enough to do that. He washes his hands, then heads back out into the party. 

And, of course, Zhenya spots him as soon as he walks out. 

“Sidney!” His face lights up when he sees Sidney, and he waves an arm to get Sidney’s attention, as if he’s not already taller than everyone else here. Zhenya wedges his way away from the group he’d been speaking to, giving his apologies, until he’s finally caught up with Sidney. 

“You came,” he says, almost as though he’s out of breath. 

“I came,” Sidney agrees. 

Zhenya looks like he’s about to say something else, but then someone clanks a piece of silverware against a glass to get everyone’s attention. “The ballroom next door is now set up and ready for dancing,” they announce, and there’s a slow but steady surge toward the exit. 

“You like dancing?” Zhenya asks, hanging toward the back of the crowd with Sidney. 

“I—well, I don’t really know how to dance,” Sidney admits. “I didn’t even go to my own prom.” 

Zhenya blinks, and at first Sidney wonders if he’s going to have to explain what a prom is. “Why you not go?”

“I was playing hockey.” Sidney’s heart clenched at that—even now, even though it’s been years since Sidney last played, it doesn’t make it any easier. “That was my life when I was a kid. I wanted to play in the NHL, and hockey was more important to me then than going to a dance.”

“I’m sorry you have to make that choice.”

“Don’t be. I’m happy with the choice I made.” He’d never give up an ounce of the hockey he’d played for anything in the world, much less a dance he would have felt uncomfortable at. “It just means I never really learned how to dance.”

Zhenya nods. “Don’t worry, they always pick nice songs, easy to dance to.” 

As soon as Sidney and Zhenya enter the room, the crowd that was already there quietens and the quartet in the corner begins to play. People start to pair off, but it’s clear that Zhenya’s meant to choose his partner first. 

“Will you dance with me?” Zhenya says, and at first Sidney thinks he must be addressing somebody else near them, but when he looks back up at Zhenya, it’s clear that he’s speaking to Sidney. 

He blinks, and blood starts pounding in his ears. He heard that wrong, surely—there are a million and one ways he could have misheard that. 

But Zhenya’s still staring at him, and the rest of the room is waiting on Zhenya to get on the dance floor, and the quartet keeps playing the same line, trying to drag it out—

“Okay,” Sidney says, his heart leaping in his throat. “Okay, yes. I’ll dance with you.” 

Zhenya’s face immediately lights up, and he takes Sidney’s hands and leads him out onto the floor. He arranges Sidney’s hands—one on Zhenya’s shoulder, which makes Sidney have to reach a little, and the other in Zhenya’s free hand. When Zhenya’s other hand rests on Sidney’s waist, Sidney braces himself, but instead of making him more anxious about the whole thing, it grounds him, Zhenya’s hand a welcome weight to keep him still. 

Sidney follows Zhenya’s lead, and it’s not bad, he thinks. Zhenya’s a good dance partner; he knows what he’s doing, and he makes it effortless for Sidney to follow, even though it seems like they’re doing something a little less involved than the rest of the crowd, who have joined them on the dance floor now. 

“There’s… actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Sidney says, and when Zhenya meets his eyes and nods, he swallows. “I, uh. I wanted to thank you for buying out my stock, that was really—it means a lot to me. But you overpaid me for it. The, uh. The check was for”—he glances around, just to make sure no one can overhear—“the check was for five thousand, not fifteen-hundred.” 

“I know what I write,” Zhenya says simply, as if that’s all there is to it. 

“But I quoted—“

“Sidney.” Zhenya squeezes Sidney’s hand, just a little. “Think of as big tip.” 

Sidney blinks. “That—Zhenya, that doesn’t really make sense? You don’t tip someone when you—“ 

“I pay you what I think is worth, then.”

“That honey is not worth $5,000, trust me.” 

“It is to me.” 

“But—“

“Why you argue so much, Sidney?” Zhenya looks a little frustrated now, brows furrowed. “I give you more than you ask, and you not happy. You want more? I pay more.” 

“No! No, I don’t—I just wasn’t sure if you knew.” 

“I know.” 

“Okay. Good.”

There’s a pause, and Zhenya looks right into Sidney’s eyes, giving his hand another little squeeze. “I mean what I say, best honey I’m ever have. Rhodivo known for two things—cloth and bees. I eat a _lot_ of honey, Sidney, and yours the best.” 

“Thank you,” Sidney says, genuinely touched. Sure, lots of people tell him it’s the best honey they’ve ever had, but he generally takes that worth a grain of salt. But if what Zhenya’s saying is true, then there must be a real reason why he’d bought all of Sidney’s stock. “I—that really means a lot to me.” 

“Helps that the beekeeper is handsome, too,” Zhenya says, and it’s so off-handed that Sidney has to double-take to make sure he’d actually heard it and wasn’t just imagining things. When he looks up at Zhenya, he’s got a huge grin on his face, his tongue toking out from between his teeth, and it’s—

It’s the most unprincely thing Sidney’s ever seen, and it’s so damn cute that it makes Sidney laugh. 

“If you’re trying to get free honey, that’s not gonna work,” Sidney says, and Zhenya pretends to be offended. 

“So rude! Sometimes I compliment a beekeeper on his looks because it’s true!”

Sidney doesn’t know how to answer that, so he looks away, trying to bite back a smile as he feels his cheeks start to heat up. 

For better or for worse, the song is over, and while Zhenya releases Sidney’s hand, Zhenya’s other hand stays where it is on Sidney’s waist. 

“Have to go dance with other people,” Zhenya says, rolling his eyes just a little, just enough for Sidney to see and laugh. “Meet you at balcony in an hour?”

Sidney blinks, but—yeah, now that he looks, the ballroom leads out onto a dimly-lit balcony, though no one has ventured out to it just yet. 

“Okay,” Sidney agrees. 

Zhenya gives him one last wide smile before he’s led off to dance with someone else—and the change is almost instant, Sidney can see it, the way Zhenya holds himself as he’s introduced to some rich lady. He’s still cordial, of course, but it’s enough of a change that Sidney can see it, and he’s grateful that Zhenya can drop whatever act this is with him. 

Because as much as he thinks he could like the crown prince of Rhodivo, he likes Zhenya much better. 

To kill the time between now and when he’s meant to meet Zhenya on the balcony, he hangs near the edges of the crowd, sticking to ginger ale and food that won’t make his breath smell awful if anyone were to get too close. 

He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until he catches himself, but his eyes follow Zhenya as he dances, with women and men, how effortless dancing seems to be for him. Sidney almost wishes he were a better dancer—or knew anything at all about dancing, really. It seems like something Zhenya loves to do, and through all of it, Sidney doesn’t see that facade he’d put on when he was giving his speech. 

It hasn’t even been an hour yet when Zhenya starts heading toward where Sidney is standing, and at first Sidney thinks he’s going to try to dance with someone around him, but he stops in front of Sidney, taking a deep breath. 

“You free now?” Zhenya asks, and Sidney nods, just a little confused. Zhenya takes his hand, then leads him through the crowd, across toward the balcony. The French doors are already open, but Zhenya closes them behind them as they step out onto the balcony. 

It’s a nice view of the park behind the building, a small patch of green in the middle of Halifax with lots of trees. The temperature outside is just right—the end of summer hailing in cooler weather once the sun’s gone down, and it’s Sidney’s favorite time of year anyway, because it’s almost time for the big honey harvest. 

“Sidney?” Zhenya says, and Sidney realizes he’s been staring when he turns and sees that Zhenya’s taken a step closer to him. 

Neither of them say anything—Sidney, at least, is holding his breath, so he can’t say much of anything even if he wants to, because if he’s reading this right….

Zhenya reaches a hand toward Sidney’s face, and he’s going to do it, Sidney thinks, he’s going to kiss him—

But then the French doors open again.

“Zhenya!” One of the bodyguards says, and then he and Zhenya exchange words. If Zhenya’s tone is anything to go on, he’s not happy, but he turns back to Sidney, a guilty look on his face. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says. “Sorry I’m not spend much time with you, I was hoping—“

“It’s okay.” Sidney nods. “I understand.” 

Zhenya doesn’t seem happy about that, but he takes a quick step closer, pressing a kiss to Sidney’s cheek. “I woo you right next time,” he promises, and Sidney laughs. 

“Woo me?”

“Yes. It’s what you do before you ask to court someone.”

“ _Court_ someone?”

Zhenya looks a little sheepish at that, which he definitely should because— _courting_ , oh man, that’s like… that’s the royal equivalent of dating, if Sidney’s hunch is right, and—

And Sidney can’t really help it: he closes the space between them and kisses Zhenya. 

Because as much as he really, really should think about this before agreeing to be courted by a fucking _prince_ , he doesn’t really have to think about it with Zhenya. The answer’s already there.

Kissing Zhenya is and isn’t the same as he’d imagined. He couldn’t have dreamed up the way Zhenya’s lips feel against his own, or the way Zhenya pulls him just that little bit closer to him, the hand on Sidney’s waist moving toward his lower back. 

Sidney doesn’t see him, but he can hear the bodyguard stomp back out onto the balcony. “Zhenya!” 

When Zhenya pulls away, he looks breathless and just a little frazzled, but hegives Sidney’s hand one more squeeze. “I see you after gala?” he asks, as if he’s worried the answer might actually be no. 

“Yeah,” Sidney agrees, and then—he’d forgotten the honey! “Wait! Wait, hold on.” 

Zhenya looks confused, and Sidney can see the bodyguard watching him closely when he reaches into his pocket, but when he pulls the little vial of honey out—and it’s clear that it is, really, just honey—everyone seems to relax a little. 

“I wanted to give this to you,” Sidney says, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s, uh. It’s something I’m trying out.”

The vial can’t be any larger than Zhenya’s thumb. The outside has an almost lacy design over the top, with a glass stopper at the top made to look like a jewel. He’d tied a little slip of paper around the neck of the vial; nothing fancy, just a thank-you note in Sidney’s best handwriting, along with an email in case Zhenya ever wants to order honey from Sidney again. Inside the vial, though is the good stuff—the honey Sidney had gathered earlier—but with little flakes of gold leaf, suspended like insects in amber. 

Which, okay, maybe isn’t the most _appetizing_ image in the world, but it had been what Sidney had been going for with it. And thanks to the light from the ballroom next door, the gold really made the rest of the honey almost glow.

“I, um. I wanted to try something, and the plan was to give it to my mom, but.” Sidney shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “She’s not _that_ into honey, and I could only afford a little bit of the leaf, and since you liked the other honey so much—“ 

Sidney can’t finish his sentence, because Zhenya’s kissing him again, and Sidney thinks he could be happy just doing this for the rest of his life—harvesting honey for Zhenya to taste, and then getting a kiss in return. 

The guard clears his throat, which only makes Sidney feel more embarrassed, but it’s almost as if Zhenya doesn’t even notice as he holds the vial against his chest.

“Thank you, Sidney. I’m keep this forever.”

“You’re welcome,” Sidney says, and when the guard says Zhenya’s name again—quieter this time, almost sympathetic—Zhenya takes a step back. 

“I have to go,” he says, looking genuinely upset about it. “But we stay in touch? I’m stay in Canada a little longer, maybe you let me take you out for dinner?”

“Yeah, yes,” Sidney says quickly, like the words can’t get out of his mouth fast enough. “Yeah, that’d be—that’d be really nice.” 

Zhenya smiles wide at that, and the guard doesn’t say anything when Zhenya leans forward and takes one of Sidney’s hands, pressing a kiss to Sidney’s cheek. It’s over as soon as Sidney registered that it happened, and Zhenya is waving and giving him a sad little smile as he steps back into the ballroom with the guard, and—

And there’s something in Sidney’s hand, he realizes, something that hadn’t been there before Zhenya had kissed him. 

It’s a slip of paper with a phone number and the words _my private phone_. 


End file.
